


we're not worthy of hardness

by enlaurement24



Series: I haven't even touched you yet [1]
Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: Bullying, Comfort, Everyone has a potty mouth, First Meetings, Friendship, M/M, eddy is precious, friend pining??, i love you Mrs.Yang, i love you mrs.chen, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24003868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enlaurement24/pseuds/enlaurement24
Summary: The kid is the snotty kind. Brett could tell all the way from the door. Friday evening in Brisbane and he's stuck in maths tutoring.They're sat together in the orchestra for a while, second violin, second desk, and they can't seem to find the correct distance between them.(How they came to be, Brett and Eddy not fully together yet.)
Relationships: Eddy Chen & Brett Yang, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Series: I haven't even touched you yet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731085
Comments: 31
Kudos: 93





	we're not worthy of hardness

'Aaah, yeah so what do you do?'

'I play violin.'

'Oh really? I play violin too. I just did my allegro grade bro.'

'Yeah, me too man.'

'Cool alright, I hate my life but I'll see you next week.'

It goes like this.

* * *

The kid is the snotty kind. Brett could tell all the way from the door. Friday evening in Brisbane and he's stuck in maths tutoring.

It's not the first time Brett sees him. He'd been watching from the back of the class, the last desk with a wonky leg and its underneath covered in curse words. It's a fact, that is the best spot and Brett had been turning up early to get it. Anyone who comes after only has two choices, make nice so that he'd share or suck it up and sit somewhere else. He'd had _girls_ start talking to him like that, no extra effort. 

It's something like shame that pricks the back of his neck when he walks in late, and the only free place is next to that kid he's maybe looked at twice, almost not at all, before he's decided, _teacher's pet_.

Second desk by the window. The dumbass lifts his bag from the seat next to him before Brett can even make it there, so Brett only nods sideways in half acknowledgement, doesn't say thanks.

He's watched the boy before, but he's actually so boring that nothing ever stood out. Brett feels bad in a way, that they're both under the same crushing weight of asian parents' expectations and yet he has no sympathy for his shiny doe eyes and his wringing hands and uncertain smile. Everything of him screams 'I like you, so like me'.

Against his better judgement Brett feels that pull, magnetic the way small animals are, to be careful and easy on him. He's always seen only the back of his head, the stupid haircut, but now from up close it hits him that he might have been picking on a younger child the entire time. Internally, that's fair, though being mean on purpose doesn't exactly sit right with him.

It's still ridiculously hard to control the wave of immediate dislike that rises in him at the leftover softness in the kid's cheeks, at his bratty pout and at the strand of hair that sticks up unassumingly, by mistake. Brett knows it's intentional. He'd got fucked over by cute children in competition before, he learned not to bite a long time ago. 

Nevermind that he's played that card as well, to a certain point. 

It's a standoff, barely, he hears his mates laughing somewhere from the side. A game of who speaks first. Brett could ignore it if he so chooses, the guy is younger for sure so maybe he's genuinely stupid too, but he's pissed that all his three friends in here somehow managed to leave him out so readily that he ended up like this, threading clear water. Not a mutiny just yet, if he deals with this right.

So Brett takes out his notes and he slowly goes over his homework, mumbling loud enough to be obvious, quietly engaging, until there's a thin shoulder leaning into his space. He breaks off his equation reciting right before the principle that leads to the solution, his voice going up in a question without his permission, and for a moment he worries it's going to read as mocking.

The kid picks it up without pause, whispering still, goody-two-shoes to the end. Easy catch.

Brett chuckles, turns to him with the grin he uses for girls, slightly crooked and secretive, and all that he sees is soft wet brown, chocolate surprised, before it begins to _twinkle_. His teeth are worse than Brett's, smile large enough to push his eyelashes together, to scrunch up his nose.

If Brett were a lesser man, he'd think _bunny_ and his heart would twist into flowers and he'd want to reach out and pet.

As it is, he only waits for the teacher to come in, to start drilling them, before he pretends to be interested in what his deskmate has to say. Nothing surprising it turns out, another asian kid playing violin. When he mentions doing his allegro grade, pushing for information, he gets a 'me too man' for a reply. Brett dies a little inside. Younger than him and probably playing from diapers as well, he thanks every god for never meeting him before now. At least they're evenly matched in maths if anything else, they both suck at it with a musician's pride.

Brett doesn't like him, won't ever like him. There's nothing to lose so he whips out his worst jokes just to see how committed he is to winning Brett over. They get dirty looks from Mrs. Keane when he has to push his face in his elbow to hush high pitched snorts. It's complicated then, that Brett leaves himself open to enjoy those fake giggles. He still thinks it pitiful, to bend like that just to be polite, but it's his weakness of sorts. He's curious what it would take to make him laugh for real, if only to satisfy his own need to know. 

When he was eight he won his first big competition and for a split second Brett had thought _yes, this is it, I've made it_ as he got washed away in praise and attention. He wonders if this kid had yet to have that or if he had it already, but just kept being on top after, unbroken by envy and comparison and longing for freedom.

Not that Brett hates the violin, no way, he's _good_ at it. Sometimes it weighs him down, but that's alright. He's stronger for it.

His 'I hate my life but I'll see you next week' comes out more honest than he intended, ignoring the part where he'd rather sit in the teacher's lap than be arsed to deal with this dumbass again.

He doesn't ask for a name.

* * *

The universe must have heard every bad thing he'd thought about _Eddy_. Or it might be punishment for that one plate from his great grandmother that Brett had broken when he was ten, it's hard to tell. 

He didn't regret it yet, not at the beginning when he'd walked into his first Youth Orchestra rehearsal and figured he was the youngest in there. He'd been terrified and embarrassed, his panic tinged with the potential of winning, familiar as always. 

Until. 

Until that kid came through the door, half hiding behind his mom and Brett's last brain cell died, parting last words dumb enough to make him cry, shouted at full volume out of misplaced confusion. 

'Oh, you're that guy from maths tutoring!'

And as such. It's Eddy. 

His head had snapped up from the ground pinpointing Brett immediately and there had been no escape, none at all even with how he had brought his violin up in front of his face, to hide. Brett peeked out from behind it only to see the guy sprinting awkwardly to where he was seated, knuckles white on the straps of his violin case, his ears burning. He'd said 'dude, you don't know how relieved I feel right now', quietly, different from the day before. 

_Wet_ , Brett had realised, before he'd ducked a little, to see under his ugly fringe and look him in the eye properly. 

The kid's face had come up then, the same redness going down into his shirt, the same unconvincingly wide smile, desperately held tears at the corners of his eyes. 'I'm Eddy, hey?' 

Brett kind of sucks, about many things, but he isn't heartless. They're standing by each other, watching their parents chat amiably, if a little tense, and he keeps replaying everything in his head, looking for the moment he'd gone wrong in his judgment.

Eddy definitely falls into the desperate to please crybaby category, and he's probably trying to tear down Brett's defenses right now, and his laughter sure hadn't been genuine, and he pisses Brett off to no end. He's also attempting to wipe his nose into his shoulder at the moment, as if he has any chance of hiding that.

Goddammit, but Brett isn't heartless. He bumps the back of his hand against Eddy's once, by mistake, then again and again, intentionally, until he gets the idea. Comparing hand sizes turns out to be distraction enough, because for a second Brett sees competition in Eddy's eyes as he stretches his clammy fingers up against Brett's but still comes up short, just so. It disappears quickly, replaced by a whiny 'well yeah, but I'm thirteen, bet you're older'.

'That's right, fourteen. Want senpai to notice you, huh?' 

Brett is either the anxiety whisperer or Eddy is a lying little wanker, with how quickly his hands dry, become warmer, his grin subdued and easy. He sticks himself to Brett's side, annoying and playing cute again for Brett's dad. It's scary efficient, he pats both their heads before he goes, while all that Brett gets from Eddy's mom is a look so heavy that his knees wobble out of responsibility alone. 

They're placed in different desks thankfully, though Brett can clearly feel his stare poking somewhere behind his ear. He's uneasy, he can't tell what is true in Eddy's act and he doesn't want to babysit anyone. He doesn't have time for any of this. 

At least his playing is still nicer than Eddy's. Not enough, never enough, but it would've been disheartening if he had to look forward to becoming better than _him_ first, out of everyone else.

* * *

Next Friday Brett gets to the classroom half an hour early and he freaks out so bad when Eddy starts walking towards his desk that he turns to the closest girl he can find to ask her to sit with him. She's kind of ugly and he doesn't talk to Eddy at all.

* * *

Nobody picks on Brett in highschool because no one _can_ , literally. He'd figured out ever since he was very little that people don't put effort into stuff that doesn't bring them validation. Sure, he'd had to keep his mouth shut on a number of painful occasions and he'd had the shit beaten out of him before, no big deal. It was worth it, now that everyone knows he just doesn't give a fuck about anything, and he makes fun of it.

It happens on the way home, when he's on the train. It's not the first time Eddy's there as well, but Brett makes sure to be surrounded by his friends, from upper years too, just in case. He's talking loudly, telling them some dumb story he half made up, but he can glimpse Eddy standing by the window over Jake's shoulder. He's red and his jaw is tight, and there's a guy half a head shorter getting into his face. Brett hears him clearly over his own voice.

'Classical musicians aren't creative at all. They just play the notes that the composers wrote. It's stupid and you can't prove me wrong.'

Eddy's mouth opens, then closes, then he rounds on the shrimp and tries to get his words out again. Brett loses track of his own conversation, because of course Eddy would be blindingly angry over such obvious heckling. He almost wants to see that guy have his ass handed to him, though he knows, Eddy is too much of a nice asian kid to get in trouble over this.

He's almost disappointed at being right, he can see the fight leaving Eddy's shoulders then and there. It's slightly better for a bit, when he lip reads 'fuck off' on Eddy's mouth, but the asshole has the balls to flick him in the chest after, and that.

That makes Brett stand up before he can register any decision to do so, his sight gets fuzzy with how pissed off he is.

His friends look at him funny, so he stops. That motion is still playing in his head and he's seething, his nails are digging into his palms, his temples hurt from inside pressure, he wants-

Not murder exactly, but close, worse if possible. Dismemberment range. 

It's over, Eddy's been already left alone and he's fine. He meets Brett's eyes, ashamed.

This isn't any of Brett's business.

* * *

Eddy still comes to sit by him in rehearsal, when they have time. He asks a lot of questions and he looks at Brett like there's no one else there, like he'd bend to his every wish, except the obvious, leaving him the fuck alone. It's ridiculous, how soft his face is with his Sailor Moon brown eyes, one eyelid double, the other not. 

Brett can't fight it, not when something inside his rib cage bleeds, and he takes to sharing bowing technique with him. He doesn't have anything to apologise for, so it's not an apology when he pokes at Eddy's shoulder, at his elbow to loosen them up, when he arranges his left hand fingers one by one for new fingering patterns. 

They won't admit it, this cowardly thing Brett's been doing. He hopes Eddy is actually as cunning as Brett thinks he is, this whole helpless puppy act, because if he isn't, if he's just trying to befriend him then he'll set himself on fire. 

Brett steals glances to his side and he's spaghetti weak for this, if he commits to it, he'll mother hen Eddy well into his old age. He isn't sure if it's because of the violin or because he's been pretending all this time, at home, during competitions, with his mates from school, but he can see now the possibility of an equal, of something to be his. 

People have looked at him before, but he's never been seen.

* * *

Eddy doesn't try to sit next to him anymore in maths tutoring, doesn't even look at Brett. 

He's all that Brett can focus on all throughout.

* * *

Brett is falling behind. Or Eddy is becoming better, at a faster rate. He knew objectively, that he isn't inherently talented, but it's never been an issue, maybe because he's never been within arm's reach to someone who is.

It's all back to square one, he watches as Eddy gets praised and _teacher's pet_ rises to the front of his mind again, ugly, so terribly unfair. It's wrong, Brett knows it, he can recognise envy for the dumb shit that it is. He wants a life where he doesn't get thrown in the pits of despair at any tiny hint that he won't ever be a soloist.

As expected, there's no Paganini-soul-selling stuff involved behind Eddy's improvement. He turns up once with his violin in maths tutoring and he comes right up to Brett, ignoring all his friends around his desk.

'Stay after? I wanna show you something.'

Brett is relieved that Mrs. Keane arrives just then, he doesn't have to smooth this over by himself. He isn't embarrassed by Eddy, not entirely, but it feels weird to mix him up with his other friends. He'd seen him once talking to a guy in his class, familiarly enough, and he'd felt so many things at once that he'd given up sorting through them.

He spends the whole time thinking and worrying, trying to come up with a good reason for staying behind, for leaving without Eddy seeing him too. Maths tutoring really isn't adding up to anything for him. He ends up spacing out hard enough that when he lifts his head up from his desk, there's only Eddy left, violin against his jaw already.

He's standing on a chair for some reason and Brett can tell that he's going to get shaky bow.

Eddy plays Debussy's Violin Sonata.

It's above their level and it sounds like a number of cats in heat but Brett sees it then, recognises it for the challenge that it is. He can't breathe, not with how Eddy watches him instead of his own fingers, that comforting brown nothing short of red-hot decisive. 

There's a passage, for at least two lines, that he nails. It shows on his face, his front teeth there for a split second. 

_I like you, so like me_ is different now that Brett's been hit over the head with it. He can see Eddy's right arm relax slowly, deliberately, the way Brett taught him. 

He doesn't have the first idea what to say, but Eddy doesn't seem to expect anything either. He stops when his tears threaten to fall on his violin, three quarters through.

* * *

Eddy has perfect pitch, so Brett makes him tune both their violins. 

They're sat together in the orchestra for a while, second violin, second desk, and they can't seem to find the correct distance between them.

They whack each other with their bows until Brett has had enough, until he presses his knee against Eddy's, 'now' and 'key change' and 'I lost count, help' and 'I know you're doing that shit on purpose'.

* * *

It's none of Brett's business and yet he'd absolutely love to break that little fucker's teeth. Ugly goddamn shrimp, they've never even talked so why then, why does Brett feel him breathing down his own neck when Eddy is the one being bullied to no end?

He remembers Mrs. Chen telling him he's welcome in their house whenever he wants. Eddy hadn't looked at him then, the same way he never does when they meet in the hallway at school, that goblin wanker always breaking Brett's line of sight.

He isn't a monster, he doesn't want to go around beating up children, but there should be limits to this kind of crap. Eddy never asks for help, never brings it up and Brett wishes he hadn't heard him play, hadn't seen his bunny teeth, hadn't ever touched him.

Maybe he's really fucking dumb to fall for Eddy's good kid charms. Maybe Eddy isn't such a good kid at all.

* * *

The entire orchestra loves Eddy with a passion, but he still insists that he only wants to play mock concertmaster for Brett's mock soloist position when they decide to embarrass them during a lunch break. 

One of the older viola girls throws her arms around their necks and jokingly asks if they've been practicing solo repertoire. Brett sees it in Eddy's face before it happens, regrets from the depths of his being having told him about his newfound Prokofiev obsession.

It's shredding to its highest form, Eddy playing a second violin of sorts, out of time and out of tune. Brett tries desperately to cue him, ends up hunched over him, almost nose to nose for reasons unknown, his own playing completely fucked.

It's useful in the end, like every other uncomfortable choice Brett has ever made, because they get drilled by the concertmaster for a full half an hour after. She's merciless, worse than his violin teacher by just a bit, and so, so good at righting their indulgent technique. 

Brett can feel the heat coming from Eddy's blushing.

* * *

Eddy isn't deserving of hardness, lie or no lie.

* * *

It goes like this.

Brett is approaching a turn in the hallway when he hears ' -all you do is what your mummy tells you to. Classical music sucks, I said it before but your head's too thick to get it. What, aren't you gonna cry? You sure you're not a girl, you dumb bitch?'

Really fucking original. Brett knows that chicken voice and he's had it. He passed by a teacher a few minutes ago, so it'll have to be quick if he doesn't want to get in trouble.

He turns the corner with his hands fisted tight and shoulders square, grin toothy wide because he has a lot of pent up frustration and it's going to be glorious after all this time.

It's in slow motion. He blinks and Eddy goes from rag-doll tired, slouched against the wall, straight to pulling his right arm back, a short, soft motion, almost no intention there at all. 

There's a pop song playing in Brett's head, something that his mom had been swaying to one morning, lyrics fittingly aggressive.

_And another one gone, and another one gone, another one bites the dust._

Eddy's fist ends up a hook, it catches him in the middle of another slur, across the jaw. His teeth clack together as his head snaps back and the shrimp goes _flying_.

It's so much better than if Brett had done it, he feels the shock of that punch rippling through his own forearm like a ghost limb. 

Brett swoons for a second, before Eddy crumbles down into a crouch cradling his right hand, before Brett sees from the corner of the eye his chemistry teacher closing in.

He doesn't fully remember how he'd shouldered Eddy back to his feet or how he'd dragged him into the library quickly enough to not get caught. Brett had only smiled widely, sheltered Eddy's body with his own from the head librarian's eyes and they'd fell into a heap behind the far-back, Botany shelf. 

It's never been harder to hold in laughter, Brett is giddy with it, his vision field distorted, overly saturated and bright. It makes Eddy glow. Not that he'd needed it in the first place, adorable badass wanker that he is. 

He feels the knot in his stomach come undone. Eddy's worthy of affection, all that he wants, Brett will lay it down for him. It's easy to give in, a coming-home type of revelation. 

Eddy falls sideways into his right shoulder when Brett takes his injured hand to check that nothing's seriously damaged. He wants to scold him for using his bowing arm, but his knuckles are only vaguely bruised, scratched over, not at all swollen, and he is too proud of him to do that anyway. Eddy's fingers move the way they should, if a little painful, still small in Brett's palm for a while longer. 

It pinches at his heart, how tall Mrs. Chen is, but that's alright, he can hold Eddy's hands now, until the shape of them will have been burned into his skin for safe-keeping. 

He'd been right, Eddy is a snotty brat, because there's wetness soaking through his shirt over his shoulder. 

'What? That was awesome, Eddy, why're you crying now?'

'I don't know.' 

Whiny.

Whiny, but Brett isn't afraid to step into that trap and hug him until he's out of tears and snot, isn't afraid to bring him home to his mum so that she can see to his hand without alarming Mrs. Chen, isn't afraid to go to Eddy's homeroom teacher and take the blame for punching the shrimp.

* * *

It takes years for Brett to find the right ratio between things that he wants to do and things that must be done. 

Eddy is a constant, the eye of the storm, familiar and new at once.

* * *

'Dude, you really fucking hated me when we were little, what was up with that?' 

'What? No. I mean, you were annoying, I'll admit to that. You seen those tiny yapping dogs? Like that.'

'You're so full of shit. I even thought you were cool too, ugh.'

'I'm always cool.'

'Yeah, I look up so much to the cracking coming from your back when you get your ass off the couch.'

Brett grins and winks at him, stretches his arms in a help-your-elders motion and Eddy pulls him up to his feet.

**Author's Note:**

> i mean, i did say platonic but in my head, brett got up only to pin eddy to the wall. ;) it ended up too soft to go in that direction though.
> 
> this is going to be a series, probably with shorter works as well, i keep changing ideas. it's named fancy because why not, but i refer to it as kiddie series. oh, did you know that both this fic title and the series title are actual things brett has said in their videos? :))) unlimited inspiration. 
> 
> this thing is vaguely, extremely vaguely related to 'growing pains', for that part when they meet the second time, but they both stand very well alone. 
> 
> also, if you're bored, this podcast! https://open.spotify.com/episode/6GAEuteUzpeLbBAOnk2Zm0?si=Qg4a0sfJS1uxTMw3wP-M3g


End file.
